by C. Greenwood
ISLE OF DRAGONS
QUEST OF THE NINE ISLES, BOOK ONE
C. Greenwood
Copyright © 2017 C. Greenwood
Edited by Victory Editing
Formatted by Polgarus Studios
Cover art by Michael Gauss
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Excepting brief review quotes, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, real events, locations, or organizations is purely coincidental.
ISLE OF DRAGONS
QUEST OF THE NINE ISLES, BOOK ONE
I was there the day the Sheltering Stone fell. The day an ancient curse was unleashed and the Ninth Isle, the final refuge of dragons, was swallowed up by the angry ocean. For centuries my people, the winged dragonkind, have protected the dragons, bonding with them and sharing the skies together. Now both races face extinction.
I made it happen. I meddled with the magic that doomed my home island. And now that magic consumes me. But it isn’t too late. If I can learn to control the power that has invaded me I might survive long enough to find the lost mountain that legend says can restore the legacy of my people. But greedy pirates and cruel Gold Ship Voyagers bar my way. And my only ally on this desperate quest is a beast some call the mad dragon—an eater of men. Can I bend both the dragon and my newfound powers to my will before time runs out? Or will the last hope of dragons, the legacy of a fierce race, die with me?
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Maybe it was fear of discovery that made the hammering of my heart sound loud in my ears. I had never stolen anything before. The ancient artifact I had taken was no bigger than my thumb. Yet from the moment I slipped it into the beltpouch at my waist, it seemed heavy, weighing me down.
No one knew what I had done. But that didn’t keep me from feeling paranoid and conspicuous. I winced at the sound of my footsteps ringing hollowly across the tiles and echoing up to the ceiling far above. As I walked between rows of soaring stone columns, their long shadows slanted like bars across my path, an illusion that made the inside of the empty building look like a beautiful marble prison.
With the arrival of evening, all visitors to the Depository of Knowledge had gone home. The front doors would be locked by now. The only people left inside were a few workers. Those servants moved softly from room to room, cleaning and cataloguing the depository’s precious relics and ensuring none of the collection had been handled or moved during the day by curious guests.
I was one of this small army of caretakers. Having just come up from a lonely alcove downstairs where I had been tidying and organizing the archives, I could still feel invisible cobwebs clinging to me. My hands remained grimy from working among the dusty shelves.
It was on my way back to the upper level that I had passed the tempting artifact and been inspired by the sudden desperate idea to take it. No one had been around. It was almost too easy to swipe the tiny hourglass—or perhaps its size made it a minuteglass—from the display table.
The delicate glass bubble holding its fine grains of sand was embraced within a small cage of brass. There was a hook at the top, as if the ornament was intended to be worn from a chain, perhaps hung around the neck or wrist or even dangling from the wearer’s hair. There was no knowing what the minuteglass’s value had been to our ancient ancestors. But I knew exactly what its worth was to me. If I could smuggle it away without detection and sell it to the off-island traders who frequented our shores, it might fetch enough money to buy the costly medicine my grandmother needed. As the only means of saving my last surviving family member, the bauble was priceless in my eyes.
But even the knowledge that my thieving was for a good cause couldn’t prevent my jumping at shadows. As I walked through the empty corridors on my way out, it struck me that there was something eerie about strolling these halls long after the bustle and buzz of the last group of scholars or inquisitive gawkers had left. The thick windowless walls let no sound or breath of fresh air from outdoors penetrate to the musty interior. Those sturdy barriers could as easily keep people penned inside as lock them out. My mind returned to the image of a marble prison, one that might hold me inside, bent beneath the weight of my duties, until I was as ancient and faded as the scrolls and manuscripts I spent my days among.
I recognized the troubling thought for what it was, self-pity born of the grief and fear of these past weeks spent preparing for the loss I might soon suffer. It wasn’t so bad, being a servant of the depository. I used to take pride in my work. It was only the sudden illness of my grandmother that had made me realize how little else I had outside this place.
But everything would look better soon, I promised myself now. With the stolen artifact in my beltpouch, perhaps my grandmother’s fate could be changed. All I had to do was avoid getting caught long enough to sell or trade the minuteglass. And before that, I had to smuggle it out of the depository.
I tried to look casual, as if this were any other evening, even while keeping an eye out for the depository guards. I didn’t hurry my steps or head straight for the exit. Instead, I forced myself to make all my usual rounds, pausing to check that the doors of the side rooms I passed were securely locked.
I stopped, startled, in front of one entrance that stood ajar. An unnatural purplish glow, flickering like firelight, outlined the edges of the cracked door. My surprise wasn’t only for the light but the fact this particular entrance had been carelessly left open.
The treasure vault was a forbidden place. It was the one chamber in the Depository of Knowledge that wasn’t open to the public. It didn’t need to be. Everyone knew what lay inside and that the safety of every soul on the island depended on the precious items housed within. It wasn’t treasure in the usual sense, but it might as well have been. The prized objects were kept locked away, and only those with the necessary key were allowed entrance.
None of the dozens of keys swinging from the cord at my belt would have fit the latch. Even I, who had spent half my sixteen years working in the depository, had never laid eyes on the inside of the vault. Cleaning the space was a task assigned only to the highest and most trusted servants.
Curiosity stirred within me. Many times I had passed this door and wished to lay eyes on the hidden relics.
But with the stolen minuteglass in my beltpouch, I had taken enough chances for one night. I wasn’t curious enough to risk whatever punishment I might suffer if I was caught peeking into this chamber. Some upper servant must have left the door open. I would report it in the morning so the room could be locked tight again. But there was no rush to do so tonight. The depository had already emptied for the day, and the vault would be safe enough until tomorrow.
I was about
to hurry on my way when I heard the murmur of voices. The speakers weren’t yet visible but were approaching from around the corner ahead.
I hesitated, guilt making me afraid. These didn’t sound like the workers I would expect to encounter here at this hour. Could they be the depository guards? But I knew most of the guards, and these voices were unfamiliar. Snatches of their conversation drifted my way.
“This morning the great lizard nearly broke free of its chains, pulling down half the temple where it was housed. It’s been moved now to the watchtower on the north cliff, where it can do no further damage until its fate is settled. The king’s son is determined to let nothing interfere with the punishment this time. He wants the beast de-winged. No one is to know of the thing until after it is done. The people would protest.”
I froze, stunned. I still didn’t know who the speaker was, but there could be no doubt what he was referring to. The great lizard in need of de-winging could only be Skybreaker. He was the last remaining dragon on the island—and possibly the last such creature in the world. It was surprising to hear violence plotted against the magnificent beast. Although he had been cursed with a dangerous madness for years and had seemingly forgotten the kinship once shared between his kind and ours, Skybreaker remained precious to our people, a revered symbol of our past.
A second voice seemed to share my surprise. “The king’s arrogant son has no respect for the old ways. This new generation will do away with the traditions of our fathers.”
“I would keep such thoughts to yourself, my friend,” advised the first speaker. “Whether we like it or not, Milos will be king of Corthium one day. We must accept that change is coming.”
Realizing the voices were coming closer, I panicked. My fear wasn’t only for the stolen artifact in my possession. The conversation I heard was obviously secret and not meant for the ears of someone of my lowly station. I couldn’t be caught eavesdropping. I wavered, but there was nothing else for it. There was only one place to hide.
I ducked through the open door of the forbidden treasure vault. I would conceal myself here until the strangers had passed. Pulling the door not quite closed behind me, I peered through the narrow crack.
When the speakers came into view, my heart beat faster. I recognized one of them, a man with flowing white hair and beard, dressed in scarlet-edged robes. The horns spiraling from his head were painted with gold, and more paint and piercings decorated the noble wings that rose tall from between his shoulder blades. I didn’t need these symbols of status to know I was looking at a minister of the king. I couldn’t remember this man’s name, but he had a scholarly reputation and was a regular visitor of the depository. He must have lingered late in one of the back rooms and gotten locked inside by mistake. Someone at the front doors would have to let him and his companion out. But it wouldn’t be me. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.
I moved away from the door and deeper into the vault. For the first time, I took in my surroundings. There were no lanterns in this windowless chamber, but none were needed. The space was illuminated by the flickering reddish-purple radiance I had noticed filtering through the doorway earlier. The glow danced like open flames, light and shadow leaping across the floor tiles and chasing one another across the walls. All this energy emanated from the center of the room, where a large chunk of stone was elevated atop a pedestal. Right away I knew the significance of what stood before me.
Once, I saw a jungle bird with a broken wing mesmerized by the beady gaze of an island cobra. Unable to fly, afraid to run, the wounded creature was helpless to do anything but watch its approaching doom. That was how I felt beholding the famous Sheltering Stone for the first time. Frozen in amazement, I could only stare into its shimmering depths while ripples of magic splashed and swirled over its smooth surface like ocean waves dashing against a rock.
To touch the powerful relic was forbidden. Even to look at it, to stand in this very vault with it, broke every rule I had been taught. But the relic called to me, singing a spell-song. Something deep within me recognized that song and returned the call. I should turn away immediately. But I stood fixed to the spot.
A sudden flash of light shot across the face of the stone, nearly blinding me with its brightness. Without understanding the reason why, without weighing the consequences, I found myself reaching out, compelled to capture the shooting light.
I felt a chill sensation as I broke the surface of the magic and touched the rock with my fingertips. Immediately a shiver passed through my hand and ran up my arm. Goose pimples broke out on my skin, and my scalp tingled, as if I had just dived to the coldest depths of a pool.
Afraid, I jerked my hand back, breaking contact.
What had come over me to touch the thing? No one in living memory had handled the stone. I took a stumbling step backward, dragging my eyes away from the relic so it couldn’t fascinate me into reaching for it again. I must get out of this vault. Desperation had prompted me to enter. Now the spell of the stone commanded me to stay. But I was stronger than the stone, and I backed away.
I hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a deep rumbling sound split the stillness. Reverberating like thunder, the noise rose up from the ground and radiated from the walls. The floor tiles trembled beneath my feet. I forgot about the magic stone and everything else as I watched a spiderweb of cracks race up the near wall. The ground shuddered harder. The cracks in the walls widened, splintering the thick marble.
“What have I done?” I wondered in horror. What awful magic had I awakened by touching the forbidden stone?
My gaze flew to the other important items housed within this chamber—the Three Hopes. The three immense ovals cradled atop marble plinths near the Sheltering Stone shook precariously. Larger than I was and formed of rough shells as hard as rock, they didn’t look like the precious objects they were. But each of those gray orbs was an unhatched dragon egg, the last cherished hope of returning my people to our former glory. They were more valuable than gold. As I watched, one of the Hopes toppled from its plinth and crashed to the tiles.
The floor shifted sharply beneath my feet then, throwing me off-balance. I fell down. Dust and pebbles rained down on top of me. Afraid the ceiling of the chamber was about to cave in, I struggled to get up.
I was no sooner on my feet than the rumbling noise stopped and the quaking began to subside. Uncertain, I stood still until the last of the shivers had passed. The space around me was in ruins, the walls rent in pieces, great blocks of fallen rock littering the floor. Dust hung like a swirling fog over the room. Eyes watering, I coughed against the grit that had made its way into my throat.
“Isaura Seastrider! What have you done?”
The demand ringing through the chamber was like an echo of my thoughts.
I whirled toward the doorway and saw a handful of winged depository guards armed with spears filling the vault’s entrance. I recognized the one in front who had shouted at me. Despite his youth, Sandros had been a watcher at the depository for a long time. We weren’t exactly friends, but I knew him a little.
“Sandros, this wasn’t my fault!” I protested. “I can explain.”
But while I struggled to figure out what possible excuse I could give for having touched the stone and brought about this damage, I realized Sandros wasn’t really looking at me at all. His eyes were fixed on my hand, which was shimmering with a reddish-purple light.
I stared at it in horror. The flowing ripples of magic covered my fingers and palm like a fine net and reached up to my wrist before stopping. I wiped my hand on my vest, as if I could rub off the magic. It did no good. The shimmering colors clung to my skin.
The guards were murmuring fearfully.
“Look at the stone,” one of them cried.
I tore my gaze from my hand to look to the Sheltering Stone. It still stood whole and undamaged in the middle of the chamber. But any relief I might have felt was short-lived. This wasn’t the same stone I had looked on mer
e minutes ago. This was a dark and lifeless chunk of rock, completely unremarkable. There were no colors, no magic light from within.
I had killed the Sheltering Stone. No—worse, I realized, holding my glowing hand up before my face. I had stolen its power.
CHAPTER TWO
I didn’t have long to contemplate what I had done. Sandros and the rest of the depository’s watchers rushed me immediately out of the vault. Fearful of another quake, we all hurried into the street. Here I was met by fresh sights of disaster. It wasn’t only the treasure vault that had been affected by the earthquake. The steps of the depository were cracked, as was the cobbled street out front.
Our way was crowded with men, women, and children, who had come pouring out of their houses and places of business to find out what was going on.
As Sandros and the others pushed through the throng and led me off at a rapid march down the road, I was too stunned to ask where we were going. I took in the splintered foundations of buildings we passed, the frightened faces of the people. My hand, shimmering with glowing magic, attracted stares.
It must have been clear the quake originated from the depository, because worried remarks flew at us from all sides. But Sandros and the other guards didn’t pause to answer questions tossed at us by the onlookers. Instead, they hurried straight through the heart of the city, dragging me along so quickly I could hardly catch my breath.
There was less damage as we got farther away from the depository. Most of the public spaces, splendid bathhouses, and pavilioned palaces lining our path were untouched by the tremors. Constructed of the same gold-veined marble as all the other buildings on the island, these structures stood fast, as they had for a thousand years.
To the north, beyond the edges of the sprawling city, I caught views of the ocean. The patches of blue water I glimpsed looked peaceful, the sun reflecting brilliantly off dancing white-crested waves. But on our other side, as I looked to the rocky hills rising above Corthium, I saw a startling sight. Circling above the thick vegetation of the rain forest were plumes of scarlet, azure, and gold. Hundreds of jungle birds rose like feathered streams of colorful smoke, escaping toward the sky. Where were they going in such a hurry? More importantly, why were they fleeing?
